


(Failed) Attempts In Ignoring Your Best Friend's Underwear Choices

by timehopper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Dave Strider Can't Shut Up To Save His Life, Finger Sucking, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Minor John Egbert/Dave Strider, One-Sided Attraction, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasy, Time Travel, Underwear, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Dave Strider visits John Egbert. John Egbert answers the door in his underwear. Dave Strider makes a bad decision. But that bad decision may actually turn out to be the best decision of his life.





	(Failed) Attempts In Ignoring Your Best Friend's Underwear Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober 2019 Day 2: Underwear. 
> 
> I thought I was done with JohnDave but then Pesterquest came along and watered my crops.
> 
> Dave is bi as fuck and I'll never apologize for it.
> 
> Also: if anyone it interested, I'm doing a Kinktober event this year! More info can be found on my tumblr, [here](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com/post/187811242951/kinktober-commissions).

Sometimes John forgets that Dave isn't straight. 

Even after that long, excruciatingly bad talk they’d had years ago, and all the excruciatingly awkward talks and reminders since, John still hasn’t quite gotten a grasp on his best friend’s sexuality. He still tends to think in terms of gay-straight-nothing-in-between, which… isn't exactly ideal most of the time. 

Except sometimes it totally is.

Sometimes, John forgetting that Dave is not-a-heterosexual is the greatest blessing a man could ever be cursed with. It means that, on occasion, John would do things without thinking, like change a shirt he spilled his drink all over right in front of Dave, or put an arm around his best friend when he’s really excited about something, or grab his hand to show him something cool, or not care about sharing a bed when they end up having an impromptu sleepover. It’s great because it means Dave can enjoy John going all stupid sexy Egbert on him and perv on his best friend and John won’t even realize. On that front, at least, life is good. Sometimes. 

Other times, it’s incredibly inconvenient. Like right now, for instance.

Dave stands outside John's house, hands in his pockets as he waits for the door to swing open and John to smile at him with that adorable buck-toothed grin of his. He hears motion from inside the house, which means John is around and didn’t forget about their hangout plans, but as usual it seems like the goof spent his time dicking around with fake arms and magic chests and shit instead of getting ready. 

"Just a minute!" John calls from inside. Dave hears the pounding of feet rushing down the stairs, and then suddenly the telltale click of the doorknob turning.. 

The door swings open. Dave’s mouth goes dry. 

"Hey! Sorry about that,” John says, the smile Dave had so looking forward to seeing going completely unseen due to his eyes being drawn… elsewhere. “I'll just be a sec. Come on in though, make yourself at home!" 

Dave doesn't trust his voice not to crack, so he doesn't say anything; he just nods, cool as a cucumber, cool as a corpse six feet under arctic ice, cool as a penguin's ballsack. Wait, do penguins even have those? 

_ Who fucking cares about penguins _ , Dave thinks to himself as he watches John Egbert run up the stairs completely naked but for the silky pair of hip-snuggling, ass-framing, rump-hugging pair of boxer-briefs he has on. 

_ Fuck.  _

Dave looks helplessly up the stairs after John, trying in vain to get the image of his best friend's perfect ass (framed by what is quite possibly the sexiest pair of men's underwear Dave has ever seen) out of his mind. Since when does John go for the fancy stuff? Where are his stupidly dorky and distinctly unsexy goofball slime boxers? Have his hot mom's luxurious lifestyle choices finally rubbed off on him? 

_ Oh, god. Did she pick those out for him?  _

Dave bites down on the inside of his cheek almost hard enough to draw blood in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the mental image of John and Jane trying on underwear together. Jane twirls her finger to tell John to turn around, and he does, and she makes a comment about how they match the bra and panties she has on and no, no, **_no_**_,_ _bad, do _**_not_**_ think about your best friend and his foxy as hell mother half-naked together--_

He can't stop it. Sure, he can shut the thought down, but the damage is already done. He's uncomfortably aroused, dick already half-hard and starting to pitch a tent in his jeans. The timing couldn’t be worse; he can still hear John upstairs, moving around, and  _ fuck Dave  _ ** _no_ ** _ stop thinking about his ass swaying in those stupid gorgeous unreasonably sexy boxers--  _

He's just beginning to debate his options (get the fuck out of here or  _ get the fuck out of here _ ) when a noise catches his attention. From somewhere next to him a door clicks open; Dave turns to see who else could possibly be in John's house right now, and...

"Oh  _ hell  _ no," he says, the moment he comes face-to-face with himself. " _ Fuck _ no. No way. Fuck this, this isn’t happening, I’m not--"

"Sorry man," Other-Dave says. "You know how it is."

No, he doesn’t. “No, I don’t,” Dave insists, but the denial only lasts about half a second. Deep down he really does know exactly how it is. “We swore off time travel for good, remember? When was the last time we even -- or I even, I guess, since obviously you just did it so you could hide in there and, what, jerk off to my -- our -- best friend’s completely delectable ass?” He cuts himself off, catches himself. “No, wait, I mean--”

“God I really did say that then, huh. Rose is right; just can’t stop with these freudian slips, can I, it’s like a freshly-waxed floor all up in here but nobody put out the sign--” 

“Just forget about me saying that, okay, because neither of us needs to keep thinking about John’s sexy, I mean, uh, not sexy -- his really really  _ un- _ sexy ass--” 

“Agreed, or it’s gonna be bonertown all over again--” 

Dave stops monologuing and stares at his future self like he’d stepped in a particularly gross-looking pile of ecto-slime. “Fuck, dude. I don’t know how either one of us ever could have thought, or will think, the term ‘bonertown’ is cool.” 

Future-Dave shrugs. “Hey man, I’m just repeating what I heard myself say an hour ago, cut me some slack.”

“Okay yeah, fair, but my point still stands: after today we’re officially retiring the whole time travel thing, and for real this time, and also the word ‘bonertown’ is officially out of both our vocabulary.” 

“Sweet, glad we got that one all figured out.” 

“Right.” Dave offers himself a fist-bump and future-him takes him up on it. Their knuckles only just brush when they hear the door open upstairs and the quick, haphazard footsteps of John Egbert on the landing heading for the stairs.    
  
“Sorry about that Dave, I’m all good now!”    
  
“Shit.” Future-Dave grabs Present-Dave by the shoulders and attempts to shove him into the study. “Don’t let him see you! And, uh…” He glances over his shoulder at John coming down the stairs, and Present-Dave temporarily stops struggling to follow his gaze.

_ Damn _ . He swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry again at the sight of John tugging his shirt on over his head as he comes down the stairs. Is that a goddamn  _ treasure trail _ ? 

“Have fun,” Future-Dave says, and with one last shove, Present-Dave tumbles into the bathroom and lands flat on his ass. The door clicks shut in front of him.

Dave rubs his injured rump indignantly, and for a second considers getting up and opening the door, but he stops himself when John begins to speak. “Didn’t mean to make you wait,” he says, voice muffled through the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to get here so early. Guess I just took a little too long in the shower…” 

“Ffffffuck,” Dave whispers to himself. He leans against the door and lets the back of his head thump against it, eyes slipping shut as he attempts to take stock of whatever the hell just happened. He can’t, though, because that last little TMI-tidbit forces images of John in the shower jump to his mind totally unbidden. 

What could have been taking him so long in the shower? Was he just taking his time washing his hair? Was he shaving? Singing? Or was he just really careful to make sure he washed himself  _ everywhere _ ? 

Dave bites his lip. He considers fighting himself for a second, fighting the thoughts of John lathering up under the water and getting himself nice and soapy just for the suds to slough off his skin and wash away down the drain, but he figures that there’s no point. He’s already here, might as well make use of the time he’s apparently bought himself. 

So Dave gives in. He breathes in deeply and lets himself imagine John washing himself, lifting his stupidly toned arms to scrub under them, lowering them and crisscrossing them over his chest to lather them up. He imagines John bending over to scrub his legs, lifting one to make sure he gets the soles of his feet.

Dave imagines he’s watching John do all this from behind so that this way he can get a front-row seat to the beautiful spectacle of John’s perfect ass, but then he changes angles again when John straightens up a bit. Now he watches from the side -- no, the front -- no, three-quarter view -- as John reaches between his legs and lifts his dick to...

No, okay, that’s enough of that, the washcloth is gone and John is just straight-up touching himself. He wraps his hands around the base of his dick with both hands and slowly tugs upward, starting off nice and slow so Dave can get a good look. He bites his lip with his big dumb adorable buck teeth and moves his hands faster, unwilling to be patient with himself when nobody’s around to see him. Well, Dave is around to see him, but in this fantasy, John thinks he’s alone. It feels more natural that way.

Dave doesn’t stop to linger on the thought of how  _ natural _ it would be for him to be peeping on John’s alone time, but again, it’s his fantasy, so whatever he says goes. 

John leans against the shower wall and his breathing comes out heavy. He keeps jerking himself off, faster now, the water easing the slide of his hand (one hand now; the other one is at his neck, squeezing it and massaging it gently because Dave knows that the Heir of Breath has a deliciously ironic asphyxiation fetish). It moves up and down over his dick rapidly; he thumbs at the head on every upstroke, and damn if the way he sighs at that isn’t the hottest thing Dave’s ever not-heard.

John’s probably getting close now. _No,_ Dave decides. _He definitely is._

Dave shimmies out of his jeans and swallows a groan at the relief of his dick finally having room to breathe. He cups it in one hand and begins to rub it a little, massage it just like John was in his fantasy, just to get it used to -- oh, no, that feels really good actually, to hell with easing into it. He slips his hand into his boxers and goes right for the head, squeezing it and running his thumb over it, again just like John.

“Yeah,” Dave breathes, imagining it’s John whispering instead. Fantasy-John bites down even harder on his lip to try and muffle his cry when he comes -- no, fuck that, he opens his mouth wide and tosses his head back and groans the sexiest strangled groan Dave can imagine. John comes in his hand, but he keeps on stroking even after he’s done, and Dave wonders if he’s going to go for a second orgasm, but he decides that’s a bit too much for now and skips ahead to the next part. 

John is in his bedroom now, clad in nothing but a towel and his glasses. He’s still damp from the shower, hair dripping a little bit as he walks over to his dresser to pick out something to wear. No, fuck the towel; John drops it and stands there completely naked, once again allowing Dave another look at his perfect ass. 

“Nice,” Dave mumbles under his breath. He jerks himself a little faster.

Meanwhile, John rummages through his dresser. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, which Dave will freely admit to himself is probably pointless in this scenario, but he really likes the way John’s nose wrinkles and his eyes narrow when he’s focused on something, so it stays. John is a man on a mission, and he will not stop until he’s found what he’s looking for. 

_ A-ha! _ John says as he pulls out the same pair of gorgeous silk blue boxer-briefs Dave had seen him wearing earlier. 

He grins to himself and squeezes a little harder.  _ Now  _ they’re getting to the good stuff.

Dave sucks in a shallow breath through his nose as he watches the John in his imagination put the underwear on. Just like before, it hugs his ass, accentuates the curve of it in all the right ways. And when he turns around,  _ oh _ . That is a nice little bulge John’s got going on in the front there. 

Dave licks his lips. Yeah, he’s pretty sure that’s what he wants now. He pictures himself opening the door to John’s room and entering it, eyes locked on John’s behind his shades. 

_ Dave? _ John asks.  _ What are you doing here?  _

_ I think you know, _ Dave answers, and it’s so fucking cheesy, but nobody’s here to critique his dialogue, no matter how much he knows Rose would want to and oh god no he stops that train of thought before it can even leave the station. 

_ You were taking too long to get ready, so I thought I’d see what was holding you up _ , Dave says instead, and yeah, that’s better. He walks forward to meet John and reaches out to touch his hips, sliding his hands over them. He makes no move to hide how openly he’s staring at John’s dick. In fact, he makes it even more obvious: Dave licks his lips, both in his fantasy and in real life. 

_ Right, I forgot how impatient you could be. _ John’s gaze turns sly; his voice lowers an octave.  _ Well? Are you satisfied, then? _

_ Not even close. _ Dave leans in and presses his lips to John’s, and John kisses him back hungrily, wrapping his arms around Dave’s shoulders and tangling them in his hair. He pulls his friend close, so close Dave doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to escape. Which is fine; he doesn’t think he wants to.

When John pulls away, his tongue still hangs halfway out of his mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting it to Dave’s. He smirks, eyes half-lidded, and in the real world Dave almost chokes. He claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise and jerks himself off faster. Fuck, he could probably get off to that look alone. 

But that’s not what he wants. He wants more. Wants it  _ all. _

“Fuck me, John Egbert,” Dave says, both aloud and in his dream. 

And John does. 

John yanks Dave to him by the collar, fisting his fingers in it and pulling hard. He crashes their lips together and pulls Dave down on top of him to straddle his lap, and Dave goes readily, grinding himself down on John’s--

He pauses. Opens his eyes. Thinks for a second and comes to a decision. This isn’t going to feel nearly as good if he doesn’t go all the way, he figures, so Dave shimmies out of his boxers and sits on the floor of the study completely naked from the waist down. 

_ Welp. _

He glances at the desk a moment, wondering if he should raid the drawers for lube, but figures there's almost a zero percent chance of there being any and he doesn't want to distract himself from his fantasy for too long anyway, so he pops two fingers into his mouth and sucks on them, imagining instead that they're John's fingers. In his imagination, John leans back on the bed as Dave sucks, pushing his fingers in deeper and deeper, but never forcing them too far. John is considerate, but even his patience has its limits.

Dave pulls his fingers out of his mouth and reaches underneath himself. He takes a deep breath and pushes one finger inside himself, then the other, surprised at how easily they go in despite the poor choice of lubricant. Dave doesn't want to think about how or why he’s so loose already or what that says about him, so he doesn't.

He returns to his fantasy. Now he's sitting on John's lap, impaled on his best friend’s thick, wet cock. John is still wearing the underwear, but he's slid it down enough he could pull his dick free over the waistband. It can't be comfortable, but it's so,  _ so _ damn hot. That's John, though: always willing to go the extra mile for a friend.

_ Is this what you want, Dave? _ John asks, and Dave nods frantically, a whispered litany of "yes, yes,  _ yes _ " spilling from his lips as he thrusts his fingers into himself and jacks off faster and harder than he had been before. The John in his daydream laughs.

_ I don't think it is!  _ he says.  _ I think you want more than that. _

"Fuck, Egbert, you're balls deep inside my ass and plowing me like your own personal sex farm, what more could I possibly want?"

John grins and lifts Dave up, grabbing him beneath his thighs and hefting him into the air. He lifts and drops Dave on his cock a few more times for good measure, and Dave clings to him like a lifeline. John giggles -- fucking  _ giggles _ \-- and turns around to throw Dave on the bed. Somehow, he never fully slips out, and Dave is both impressed and on the verge of desperate horny tears at the thought.

Once they're in a more comfortable position, John leans over Dave and brackets him with an arm on each side of his head. Dave looks up at him and is met with what is perhaps the sexiest expression he's ever seen: John, looking like he's half a breath away from losing himself completely, eyes narrow and sweat dripping from his temples, a sultry grin spreading over his lips as he says,  _ Is that better, Dave? _

"Fuuuuck yes," Dave hisses. He bucks his hips forward into his hands, thrashes back against his fingers. He's so goddamn close.

_ Good boy _ , John says. A shiver and a whimper simultaneously tear through Dave as he realizes that he did  _ not _ realize how badly he wanted to hear John call him a good boy.  _ His  _ good boy.

Dave takes in deep, ragged breaths through his nose as he imagines John leaning down to kiss him. It's messy -- John would be a sloppy as fuck kisser, Dave just knows it -- but that just makes it better, because it means that when John pulls away Dave can lick his lips and still taste him lingering there.

He can’t stop himself: he moans. “Fuck,  _ John _ …”

"Huh?"

Dave’s eyes fly open. His hand moves from his dick to his mouth in record time to stop himself making any more noise, because  _ that was John Egbert’s real, actual voice _ . All the white noise from the other room pauses; Dave hadn't even realized he could hear music playing from the living room until now. “What was that?”

Dave stays silent, waiting. Waiting...

He hears himself answer John through the wall. “Nothing, it's just, uh, y’know…”

He doesn’t hear the no doubt weak-ass excuse his future self gives to cover up for this atrocious blunder, because Dave’s brain is suddenly filled with the full realization that John is, in fact, only one room away from him, which means that if he isn't careful, he could get caught.  _ John could hear him jacking off in the study and come looking for him. _

The risk, the daring, the audacity of it all hits Dave like a ton of bricks and, buoyed by the thrill of trying not to get caught, he goes back to jacking himself off. He doesn't bother with that fantasy anymorel he just thinks about John walking in on him from the other room, seeing him with a hand on his dick and two fingers up his ass, and saying  _ You know, if that's what you wanted, you could have just asked... _

Dave bites down on his tongue to stop himself crying out as he comes. He doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life -- not alone, anyway -- and it screams through his body like a banshee, deafening him and whiting out his vision until there's no longer anything left of himself to release.

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, to come back down from his high, but when he does, Dave takes quick stock of himself: he's a mess, sweaty and sticky with cum, his hair all ruffled at the back and his shirt riding up his chest. He doesn't even care, though, because he's just had the best goddamn sex fantasy and solo orgasm of his life, and it was with the target of said fantasy sitting in the next room over, none the wiser.

Yeah. He's going to be jacking it to this memory for a long-ass time.

He tucks that thought away for later and pulls up his sylladex to fetch a clean towel. Dave tidies himself up, recaptchalogues the towel, and pulls out his trusty timetables.

"Didn't think I'd ever be using these again," he mumbles to himself. Then, with a knowing smirk, he spins them and jumps back in time, back to the moment his past self knocks on the door.

"Fuckin' worth it."

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> If you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1122210346939244544). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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